


Mary Anne Takes Charge

by mayhap



Category: Baby-Sitters Club - Ann M. Martin
Genre: Consensual Kink, F/F, Foot Massage, Light Dom/sub, Obedience, Oral Sex, Sex Toys, Yuleporn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 00:04:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2792543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayhap/pseuds/mayhap
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kristy and I have an arrangement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mary Anne Takes Charge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [something_ignites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/something_ignites/gifts).



All schools must order the exact same model of wall clock from the same manufacturer. Here I was, sitting at my desk in my English classroom at Dolan Middle School in Stamford, and I was looking at the same clock that had been in all of my classrooms back in Stoneybrook. It had the same gray metal frame, the same big, black numbers on the white face, and the same skinny red second hand, scooting slowly forward.

When I’m teaching, I don’t usually get a chance to stare at the clock for long. Today, though, I had agreed to let my seventh period seventh-graders spend the last twenty minutes getting started on their reading while I graded their unit tests, which I was returning to them tomorrow. They were keeping up their end of the bargain—all of them were sitting quietly with their textbooks open in front of them, although Brett Proctor was chewing on his thumbnail and Madison Stewart’s eyes were daydreamy and unfocused.

It’s bad enough when you’re a kid and you have to write an essay or take a test. Most kids never even think about their teachers, who have to grade _all_ of them. I have fifty-eight seventh-graders, so when they take a test, I have to grade fifty-eight tests. It is definitely my least favorite thing about teaching.

The second hand completed another journey around the clock face and the minute and hour hands pointed to 2:40 as the bell rang.

“Yay!” I said, throwing the test that I was grading down onto my desk. Then I felt my cheeks getting hot. I hadn’t meant to say it out loud, and my class was cracking up.

“Ready to go home, Ms. Spier?” Erika Green asked me with a grin, shoving her textbook into her backpack.

“Yes, I am,” I admitted. It was a good thing that I was already in my second semester with these kids and had established a good rapport with them. “I’ll be handing back your tests tomorrow,” I promised the rest of the class as they packed up their bags and shoved their chairs in and got ready to leave. “We’ll go over them, and then we’ll begin discussing Mark Twain and ‘The Famous Jumping Frog of Calaveras County’.”

I put the tests back into a neatly-labeled manila folder and tucked them into my bag, which was also neatly organized, with plenty of fresh pens (red and black) and the notebook that I record all of my grades in.

You might be wondering why I was so excited to go home. After all, I was going to be grading all the rest of the tests when I got there, including the one that I was in the middle of, and I could tell that Rachel Green hadn’t reviewed any of short stories we had read before the day of the test, because all of her answers were much too vague and general, even though most of them weren’t technically wrong.

My excitement had nothing to do with grading and everything to do with Kristy Thomas. She was my first best friend, the president of the Baby-sitters Club—which was something that she came up with when we were both in seventh grade, the same age as my students, and it was hugely important to all of us who were in the club, back in middle school—and, most recently, my girlfriend.

It hasn’t always been easy for us. The first time that we kissed was in tenth grade, after homecoming, when I broke up with Logan Bruno for the third and final time. It was awkward—not the kiss, which was _amazing_ , but what came afterwards. Kristy and I ended up not talking to each other for five whole months. It wasn’t the first time that the two of us had fought, but it was the worst. I missed Kristy desperately. Both of us had a lot of things that we needed to figure out about ourselves before we were ready to share them with each other, though. It was even longer until the second time that we kissed.

“You’re my best friend, Mary Anne,” Kristy had told me, twirling the end her ponytail around her fingers nervously. “I don’t know if I can risk losing you like that again.”

My eyes had filled up with tears. “I don’t want to lose you either!” Kristy doesn’t cry as easily as I do—to be fair, almost no one cries as easily as I do—but she had gotten all sniffly, too. We had hugged each other then, but it had been a best friends hug and hadn’t involved any kissing or groping or clothes removal.

When we both decided that we were ready to try having _that_ kind of relationship with each other, Kristy almost drove me crazy at first. “Is this okay?” she would ask me, with her hand shoved down my underwear and resting lightly over my pubic mound but not actually touching me. “What about this? Is this okay? Are you sure?”

I felt like she was treating me like a baby, which is something that I am very sensitive about. I knew what I wanted, and I couldn’t figure out why Kristy didn’t seem to believe me. I would get frustrated when Kristy would get me all hot and wet, grinding up against her with my tongue in her mouth, only to shy away when I started to shimmy out of my jeans or ask me if I was sure that I wanted to take off my bra.

“Kristy!” I eventually snapped.

“What?” she had asked me. Her eyes were wide.

“Stop teasing me and move your fingers,” I said. I used my own hand to guide her fingers in deeper, and then rocked against her. “Perfect. Now keep doing that. Don’t stop.”

Kristy had shuddered, working her fingers inside me desperately and bringing me to orgasm almost immediately. When I felt between her legs, she was soaking wet and her clit was almost too sensitive to touch. She moaned as I dragged my thumb over it.

That was when I began to realize that Kristy wasn’t just afraid that she was going to ruin our friendship with sex. She kept asking me if I was sure because she wanted me to tell her exactly what I wanted, and maybe even order her to do it.

Taking charge comes naturally to Kristy. Sometimes she takes it a little bit too far, but she’s gotten better about staying on the right side of the line between “leader” and “bossy know-it-all.” I, on the other hand, am much more likely to give a tactful suggestion than an order, but sometimes an order is exactly what’s needed. Like when a kid is misbehaving, or someone is about to get hurt, or when it really, really turns your girlfriend on.

Now we have a code, which I invented, because I have always been good at coming up with codes. If Kristy wants me to take charge and boss her around, she gets out a pair of this lacy underwear that is nothing like the plain cotton panties that she usually wears and puts it on top of her dresser. Then, unless I'm not feeling up to it that day, I order her to put them on. She says that they’re just itchy and irritating enough that she can never forget that she’s wearing them because I told her to.

I get home before Kristy does on days when I don’t have to do anything after school, but Tigger greeted me at the door of our apartment.

“Mrrrrowr,” he remarked, winding sedately around my ankles. He grew from a bouncy gray tiger kitten into a dignified and rather portly gray tiger cat who doesn’t act very much like his namesake. Kristy is more of a dog person, but Tigger is already set in his ways as an only pet and doesn’t get along with dogs at all. Someday, we’re planning to get a kitten and a puppy at the same time, so that they’ll grow up to be best friends, like us, but for now Kristy mostly gets her dog fix on visits to Stoneybrook.

“Hi, Tiggy,” I crooned, taking off my practical navy flats with the comfortable gel inserts.

My work wardrobe is all very tame and very conservative—nothing babyish, like when my father used to dress me, but nothing the least bit trendy or wild. Today I was wearing a navy pencil skirt and sheer nude pantyhose with a butter-yellow sweater set that had most of the little pearl buttons buttoned up. I’m one of the youngest teachers at my school, and I worry about being taken seriously. Not so much by my students, because I’m good with them, but by my principal and my fellow teachers.

Now that I was home, though, I changed into a pair of black leggings and an oversized turquoise sweatshirt. Tigger hopped onto the living room couch with me, making a token attempt to swipe my red pen out of my hand before he settled in his favorite perch on the back of the couch and I returned to my grading. I wrote a long note on the last page of Rachel Green’s test, finishing with a request for her to see me after class to talk about good study habits.

I worked steadily until I heard Kristy’s key in the door.

“I’m home!” she announced, and I felt my stomach flip-flop—part arousal and part stage fright.

“I’m in here!” I called back.

“You would not believe the afternoon I had,” Kristy began, shrugging out of the the blazer of her red pants suit and throwing it on a chair with her leather briefcase. “We had to throw out everything we’d done on the Coffee Shop Copy Shop account and start completely over, and Eric—”

“Kristy,” I said sternly.

“Oh. Right,” Kristy said. She squirmed a bit.

“Go hang that up and change into something more comfortable,” I said.

I felt like I was being incredibly rude, but Kristy immediately scooped her blazer back up and headed for the bedroom. Even though I would try to come up with things to order Kristy to do ahead of time, it always took me a while to get into my role and work up to actually saying some of them out loud. Kristy said that it was frustrating, “but in a good way.” I made a note to myself to ask her about what had happened with the Coffee Shop Copy Shop account and Eric later, when I was playing the part of my normal self.

Kristy had gotten a job selling ads for one of the local television stations, specializing in courting small local businesses who had never done television ads before. She’s really good at working with them, considering her own background in entrepreneurship, not to mention her non-stop flow of ideas, but it also required a work wardrobe that is nothing like her usual uniform of jeans and a t-shirt or a turtleneck.

When Kristy came back, she was wearing an old “I ♥ NY” t-shirt from one of our trips into the city and a pair of plaid pajama pants with her hair pulled back into her usual ponytail, but she looked more anxious than comfortable.

“I want to get this grading done before I do anything else tonight,” I announced. “Why don’t—I mean, come over here and rub my feet for me.”

I held them up and wriggled my toes. I’d been standing up for more than half the day, so when Kristy took my left foot in her hands and began to knead it, I practically started purring like Tigger. Kristy’s fingers were strong and forceful, and it felt like she was turning my feet into jelly. It felt amazingly good, and I made little appreciative noises as I worked.

Kristy pulled off one of my turquoise push-down socks and held my bare right foot up to her face. She pressed her lips inside the arch of my foot.

“Hey!” I protested. “I’m not going to be able to concentrate on my work if you do that.”

Kristy’s eyes sparkled wickedly. “I know,” she said, and sucked my big toe into her mouth. I felt her tongue working busily, tickling and teasing.

Reluctantly, I extracted my foot from Kristy’s distracting mouth. “Go start dinner,” I ordered her instead. “There’s a lasagna in the freezer. We can have that with a salad.”

“Okay,” Kristy grumbled. From the living room I heard her bang the freezer door shut in the kitchen next door. Then she banged the oven door shut, too.

“Quietly!” I added. There was no more banging from the kitchen as I worked diligently on my grading, although I heard the knife on the chopping board and smelled the lasagna in the oven. I forced myself to concentrate on my work. After all, I had been the one who said that it had to get finished first, so now I actually had to finish it before I could do anything else. Luckily I had gotten a lot of grading done before Kristy got home, or else I would have had a hard time sticking to it.

When Kristy returned, leaning on the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, I was almost done, but aside from one quick sideways glance I ignored her until I was done recording my last test grade in my grade book. Kristy waited patiently as I put the graded tests back in the manila folder to hand back tomorrow, tucked them and my grade book back into my bag, and put it aside along with my little padded chintz lap desk. That meant that she was settling into her role and, by the rules of our game, I could reward her.

“Is dinner ready?”

Kristy nodded. “Everything except the lasagna. It’s still heating up.”

“Good,” I said. “We’re not going to eat until later, anyway. Now, come back and sit where you were before.”

Kristy knelt by my feet and waited for me to tell her what to do.

“Take off my other sock,” I said, and she peeled it off, placing another kiss on my bare foot. “Nice,” I said appreciatively, but I was too impatient to let her linger all the way down there, even though it meant that I would have to start getting more explicit with my orders. “Now, take off my pants.”

Kristy’s fingers flew up to the stretchy waistband of my leggings and I shifted my hips to help her as she pulled them down. I felt her breath on my naked thighs and I was quivering with anticipation as she slid them down to the floor.

“Underwear, too,” I said. I was blushing, but I managed to keep my voice steady.

I was wearing pale blue cotton underwear that was already damp at the crotch, and I squirmed as Kristy took it off, hiking up my oversized sweatshirt so that I was fully naked from the waist down. As soon as she had tugged my underwear free of my feet, I spread my thighs wide for her, exposing the slick wetness between my legs. Kristy bent her head, poised, and waited for permission to continue.

“Go on,” I said to her, and Kristy plunged her face into my labia, licking and sucking and suckling with almost overwhelming enthusiasm. I threw my head back with a moan and startled Tigger, who yowled his displeasure and jumped off the couch, slinking out of the room with an irritable twitch of his tail.

“Whoops,” Kristy said.

“Sorry,” I said, embarrassed. “That was my fault.” I shook my head, reminding myself of the part that I was supposed to be playing. “And I didn’t tell you to stop.”

“Mmmmm,” Kristy hummed appreciatively as she went back down on me. I wound one hand in her ponytail and gently directed her head where I wanted it.

“Slower,” I gasped, not wanting it to be over so quickly. “No, even slower. That’s good.”

I let the feeling build until I couldn’t wait any longer and shuddered up against Kristy’s tongue, overwhelmed with pleasure. Kristy gripped my hips and held on, teasing until I couldn’t bear to be touched there anymore and pulled her up into a messy kiss instead. I slid one hand up the smooth expanse of her back and jammed the other one under the waistband of her boxer shorts, feeling the fancy, scratchy lace there as I licked out Kristy’s mouth. Finally I broke it off and got to my unsteady feet, offering Kristy a hand up.

“Come with me,” I said, and led Kristy back to the bedroom.

We shared it, which meant that the walls were covered in both cityscapes and sports stars, and it was a little messier than I liked but a lot tidier than Kristy would have managed on her own. We had both agreed on the queen-sized bed with the plain navy blue duvet and the matching curtains, which I tugged on to make sure that they were completely closed before I took off my sweatshirt and my bra. The duvet I folded down at the end of the bed.

“Take off your shirt,” I ordered, sitting down on the bed. Kristy pulled it over her head immediately, without any attempt to tease me with a slow reveal, and flung it on the floor. I ignored the mess and reached my hands out for Kristy’s breasts.

She was lean and wiry, with small, high breasts—she still has to buy all of her bras in the juniors department—and round dark nipples, already erect and sensitive as I groped and stroked and squeezed, enjoying her reactions.

“Let me take these off for you,” I said, pulling on the hem of her boxers until she was only wearing the black lacy underwear that I had ordered her to put on this morning. “Perfect.” I drew my fingers up the length of her inner thigh, stopping short when they met scratchy lace, and Kristy squirmed, trying to get me to move higher and to the left. Instead, I took both of my hands away.

“Hey!” Kristy said indignantly.

“You don’t take them off until I say so,” I reminded her. I had to get up, anyway, to get out the cardboard box under our bed that was decorated with vintage pin-up girls cut out from a calendar that Kristy had helpfully labeled “Sexy Stuff.”

The first time that we had gone shopping for sex toys together, I thought that I was going to die of embarrassment. The store was overcrowded and dingy, there was nowhere for me to look that wasn’t filled with pictures of naked women, and I was convinced that everyone else in the store was leering at us. Neither of us had even really liked the first sex toy that we had picked out. Subsequent shopping trips had been nearly as awkward, but at least we had gotten a variety of things and taken them home to experiment, with, and that part was fun.

I took out the strap-on harness and Kristy’s favorite dildo, the purple one with the slender shaft that curved upward at the tip. I strapped it into place and drizzled lube onto the tip, stroking it down the shaft with my hand.

“All right,” I told Kristy, who was waiting obediently for me. “Now you can take them off.”

Kristy wriggled out of her underwear and threw it on the floor with the rest of her clothes. She started to lie back on the bed for me, but I shook my head.

“Sit up,” I said. “We’re going to try something different.”

Kristy watched, wide-eyed, as I lay down on the bed, with the dildo curving up between my hips. I tucked a pillow behind my head.

“Go on,” I invited her. “Fuck yourself on it.”

Kristy straddled me, spreading her legs, and I watched as she guided the rounded purple tip between her labia and then sank down onto it. The sound that she made when she did it was exquisite.

“Good,” I said huskily. From my position I had the most incredible view as Kristy rode me, watching as she experimented with the depth, the pace, the angle. Her hair began to come loose, with wavy brown tendrils framing her face.

“I don’t know if I can get there like this,” Kristy said, flushed and a little breathless. “I think I need you to do it.”

“Of course,” I said at once. I pulled myself up into a sitting position and gave her a quick, deep kiss. “How do you want me to do it?”

“Let’s switch places,” Kristy suggested. She lay back on the bed and spread herself out for me.

“Do you need any more lube?” I asked.

“I don’t think so,” Kristy said. I ran my hand along her slit and it was slick and admitted my fingers easily.

“All right,” I said and got into position, lining up the tip of the dildo at her entrance and thrusting my hips. “Tell me when I’m hitting the right spot.”

“A little deeper,” Kristy said. “And higher. Oh, fuck yes! Like that!”

I thrust again and watched as Kristy came undone, squirming and babbling and finally shouting wordlessly when she reached the point of orgasm. Kristy is never quiet when she comes, which is why I absolutely refuse to have sex with her when anyone that we know is in the same building as us, no matter how much she begs me.

I pulled out carefully and then unfastened the strap-on harness. It really gets in the way of cuddling. I spooned up against Kristy and nuzzled her ear, feeling as her heartbeat settled and her breathing slowed.

“I think the lasagna is probably done by now,” Kristy said.

“I forgot all about the lasagna!” I said with dismay.

Kristy laughed. “The smoke alarm hasn’t gone off yet,” she said cheerfully. “It can’t be too bad.”

I ran to the kitchen and pulled it out of the oven, naked except for a pair of oven mitts. It wasn’t burned, but the layer of cheese on top had browned so much that it was practically black, and it was completely dry.

“You could always tell me to go pick up Chinese food,” Kristy said hopefully.

I poked at the lasagna with a spatula. “I don’t want to waste this,” I said. Kristy peered down at the pan.

“It looks like,” she began, “what you would get if you took shingles and covered them in motor oil, and then—”

I gagged. “Fine!” I said, throwing up my hands in surrender. “We’ll go get Chinese food. I’m coming with you.”


End file.
